


Captain Watson

by Sexxica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Boots - Freeform, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Captain John Watson, Deepthroating, Dog Tags, Dom John, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Military Kink, Military Uniforms, Punishment, Riding Crops, S&M, Sex Toys, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Top John, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is bored and it is driving John insane.  Time for Captain Watson to take charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Watson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jakathine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/gifts).



> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://sexxicawrites.tumblr.com/)

Sherlock had been pacing around the flat for hours.  He was frantic and snippy and he realized he was driving John around the bend, but there was nothing he could do about it.  He was bored.

“I’m bored, John!”  He shouted for what must have been at least the tenth time, drawing out the word ‘bored’ into a childish whine pitched in baritone.  John just looked up at him angrily from his chair where he had been trying to read the paper for half the morning.  

John let out a huff of breath, folded his paper, and got up from his chair.  He made meaningful eye contact with Sherlock as he walked across the room, then up the stairs to his bedroom.  He heard Sherlock call after him, but ignored him completely.

John went to his closet and pulled out the nondescript box that lay in the back of it, putting it on top of his bed.  He heard Sherlock go back to his pacing downstairs, which involved a lot more walking on top of the furniture than one would usually expect.  John opened the box, taking out the items inside one by one and laying them out carefully on his bed before he stripped off his jeans and jumper.  He took a deep breath and dressed in all that shifting beige finished off with perfectly polished and tightly laced black boots.   

Sherlock stopped pacing as soon as he heard the heavy footsteps coming in his direction from upstairs.  Boots.  John was wearing the boots.  Sherlock’s heart rate immediately jumped and his fingers twitched at his sides.  He nearly forgot to breathe when John rounded the corner in his military fatigues and those boots.  Sherlock loved those boots.  Loved them more than breathing anyway.  Breathings boring.  

What was about to happen was anything but boring - John was about to take control.  Complete and total control, and Sherlock’s entire body lurched, throbbed, flared with the excitement and anticipation of it.  All of him wanted to please John, give him exactly what he wanted.  And god, he looked so good in that uniform and those boots laced so tightly, so perfectly neat and orderly.

“Oh, John.” Sherlock gasped despite himself.

“Enough.” John barked at him, his spine straight and his hands behind his back.  “I don’t want to hear another sound out of that mouth unless I ask you a direct question.  On your knees.  Now.”

Sherlock dropped onto the hardwood at John’s feet with complete disregard for his own kneecaps.  He stared up at John (no, Captain Watson) wide eyed and mouth slightly agape.  He watched as his Captain reached into his pocket and pulled out something silver and shiny and Sherlock had to bite back a moan.

John slipped his dog tags over Sherlock’s head and they clinked gently against his chest.  John gripped Sherlocks chin firmly, tilting his head up to look him in the eyes.  “Do you remember what these mean?” John asked, authoritative but still deeply caring.

“Yes, Captain.” Sherlock answered.

“And that would be?”

“That I belong to you, Captain Watson.  No one else.”  Sherlock loved these words almost as much as the boots.  They thrilled him and he knew they thrilled John just as much.

“Hmm. What else?”  John prompted.

“I will refer to you only as Captain, or Sir, or I will be punished, Sir.”

“Very good soldier.  One last thing and then I want that pretty mouth silent. What is the safeword?”

“Hydrogen, Captain.”

“Good.”  John said, his tone clipped as he released Sherlock’s chin.  With the preliminaries out of the way he was free to do with Sherlock as he wished.  “Strip for me.  You may stand to do so, but then you will return to this position.”

Sherlock gave a small nod and got up to his feet.  He took his robe and tee shirt off, tossing them on his nearby chair, then proceeded to push his pyjama bottoms and pants off his slim hips, over his already filling out erection.

John watched him closely, enjoying his silence as much as his beautiful naked body - pale and lithe and practically made for John’s pleasure.  When Sherlock was fully undressed, except for the dog tags of course, he dropped back down to his knees at John’s feet.  

“You’re already hard, Holmes” John noted, taking a step forward to stand with one booted foot on either side of Sherlock’s legs.  “Such an eager little thing.  Now what am I to do with you?”

“Anything.”  Sherlock whispered, forgetting himself in his own desire, not realizing his error until John was tsking at him.

“Well I know exactly what to do with you now.” John said, glaring down at Sherlock, who swallowed hard under the scrutiny.  “Stay.” John growled before turning sharply and heading into Sherlock’s room.  

Sherlock did as he was told and stayed kneeling and naked on the floor, eagerly awaiting John’s return.  It didn’t take long for John to come back with the riding crop in his hand, and again Sherlock bit back a moan that rose involuntarily in his throat.

John walked around behind him, placed his boot on Sherlock’s back and then gave a solid push.  Sherlock caught himself, sending a jolt of pain up the heels of his hands, into his wrists, elbows, shoulders, all meeting at the point where John’s boot had been.  “Get your face down on that floor, Holmes.”  John ordered, and Sherlock bent to put his forehead to the ground, the dog tags clinking on the floor, and his bare arse high in the air.

As soon as Sherlock’s face was down John whipped the riding crop through the air to land solidly, with a resounding _crack_ on Sherlock’s left arse cheek.  Sherlock gasped and squirmed on the floor, but managed not to call out.  Moans tended to count as speaking to Captain Watson, and Sherlock would not make that mistake again.  He hadn’t been able to sit down properly for nearly seven full days that time.

Without pause, John rained blows down on Sherlock’s backside until he thought he might chew through his own lip from having to keep quiet.  It was only ten this time. A perfectly reasonable number and enough to leave harsh lines across all of Sherlock’s generous arse.  John was breathing a bit heavily now.

John walked around next to Sherlock and bent down to grab a fistful of his hair, dragging him up by it back into a kneeling position.  Sherlock was fully hard and leaking precome now, and as John moved around in front of him again, he could clearly see the outline of John’s stiff cock through his trousers.  John gave another tug to his hair, forcing him to look up.

“You liked that didn’t you?”  John asked.

“Y-yes, Captain Watson, Sir.”  Sherlock was overcompensating for his earlier error.

“How exactly am I meant to punish you, soldier, if pain gets you off so much?”  John’s voice was quiet now, but the edge hadn’t left it.

“I don’t, ahh!” Sherlock started, but was cut off as John raised his foot to press the top of his toe into Sherlock’s wet cock, pinning it against his stomach. “Don’t know, Sir.” Sherlock managed to finish breathlessly.  John didn’t answer and instead moved his boot up and down Sherlock’s cock, the cool, thick leather and slightly excessive pressure sending shivers up Sherlock’s spine.

John put his foot down and released Sherlock’s hair.  “Hmm, now look what you’ve done.”  John said, and Sherlock looked where he was directed - the toe of John’s boot now smeared with precome.  “Well, clean it up soldier.” John commanded and Sherlock obeyed with pleasure, getting down on his elbows at John’s feet, one on either side of the sullied boot.

John watched with pride and pleasure as Sherlock lowered his head down to his boot.  In slow, deliberate licks Sherlock cleaned off John’s boot - tasting leather and polish and himself. His breath fogged over the black and heavy boot and a tremor went through him as his mouth and nose were filled with the rich taste and smell of leather and his mind stilled, focused solely on his task.  He couldn’t help but let out just the smallest of whimpers.

John could see Sherlock’s breathing was quick and shallow, but other than that, from his perspective the only sign of his utter arousal was the way he was curling and uncurling his toes and one small, forgivable whine.  Sherlock looked so fucking gorgeous on his hands and knees, his backside striped from the riding crop that John couldn’t hold out any longer.

He pulled his foot away from Sherlock’s lapping tongue and lifted it to press into his shoulder, guiding him back up to a kneeling position.  Again John framed Sherlock’s legs with his boots, Sherlock’s face at just the right level.  John reached to undo his trousers, not pushing them down but just pulling himself out.  Sherlock licked his lips.

“Why don’t you put that mouth to some good use for once, Holmes.” John instructed and Sherlock happily obeyed, sticking out his pink tongue to start to lick at the head of John’s hard cock.  John twined his fingers into Sherlock’s dark curls, pulling him forward, slipping his cock past those plush lips.  John groaned and Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut as his mouth stretched around John.

John pushed himself deep into Sherlock’s mouth, enjoying the heat and wet and that oh so clever tongue finally doing something other than chip away at his patience.  He held tight onto Sherlock’s hair, using it to guide his head and set the pace.  He pulled Sherlock in tight, until his nose pressed into John’s pubic hair and John knew he would struggle to breathe.

Sherlock took it, loved it, choked and gagged on John’s hard cock until his eyes started to water and John finally pulled out to let him gasp a lungful of air.  As soon as he had his breath though, John’s cock was back pressing down his throat, then out again, over and over, making sloppy wet sounds as Sherlock lost control over his ability to swallow and saliva began to overflow down his chin.  

John used Sherlock’s mouth roughly, deriving as much pleasure from the tears streaming down Sherlock’s cheeks as he was from that mouth wrapped around his cock.  “Ahh that’s right soldier.  You love this don’t you?  Love having your throat filled until you can’t even breathe.  You’re such an obedient little cocksucker for me, but I don’t see why I should be doing all the work.  Come on now, Holmes, I want to see how quickly you can make me cum with just your mouth.”  With that John smirked down at Sherlock and loosened his grip on his curls, his hands just resting on the other man’s head now.  

Sherlock blinked the tears out of his eyes and pulled all the way off John’s cock for a moment, catching his breath and swallowing.  He shifted slightly on his knees, his hands on his thighs as he leaned forward slightly, taking the head of John’s cock back into his mouth.  His drive to both please John, and follow his orders kicked into overdrive and his blood ran hot, making his cock twitch.

Sherlock used every bit of knowledge he had of what pleased John most.  He swirled his tongue around the head of John’s thick cock, rubbed it against the sensitive underside, pressed and curled his tongue to create a suction point again and again - a trick he knew gave John immense pleasure.  Sherlock was rewarded with a long moan from John, and he took it as his cue to sink his mouth down until John’s cock butted up against the back of his throat.

John gasped, entranced by the sight of Sherlock swallowing the entirety of his cock.  It never failed to thrill him to watch Sherlock down on his knees, giving his utmost, and it took all John had not to lovingly stroke his face, tell him he was brilliant.  No, that would come later, much later if John had his way.  Which of course he would.

Sherlock pulled back, but not all the way, his cheeks hollowed with the suction created around John’s cock as his tongue wriggled against it.  He worked quickly, alternating between bobbing his head up and down, and pulling nearly all the way off lick and tease at the head of John’s cock.

John was breathing heavily, trying to hold out as long as possible, but Sherlock knew exactly what he liked and oh god it was fantastic.  “Ahh very good Holmes.” John groaned out, close to the edge, his fingers starting grip into Sherlock’s hair again.  “You had better swallow every drop of my cum soldier, or your arse won’t be the only thing smarting by the end of today.” John directed and Sherlock let out a long moan around John’s cock.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open when he realized what he had done, and just as quickly John withdrew himself from Sherlock’s mouth.  John was reluctant to do so of course, but rules were rules and he had already let a whimper slide.

“On your feet, Holmes.” John growled and Sherlock scrambled to obey, fighting every urge he had to apologize profusely.  John pointed to the closed door, “Over there, now.  Place your hands above your head, palms flat against the door, feet shoulder width apart.  You will stay there.  I will not tell you twice.”

Sherlock bit his lip and did exactly as John told him.  Why had his body betrayed him so badly?  He never intended to misbehave, but John’s Captain voice just did things to him.  Inexplicable and exciting things that no one and nothing else had ever made him feel.  Sherlock heard John’s heavy footsteps retreating into the bedroom.

John closed the bedroom door behind himself and heaved a sigh.  Goddamnit he had been so close.  John took a few more deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists until he was a bit calmer, a bit less on edge.  He had to remind himself that this was more about Sherlock and what he needed than what John wanted.  It was only a lovely coincidence that what Sherlock needed was control, and what John wanted was Sherlock to shut up every once and a while and if that was only because he had John’s cock shoved down his throat, all the better.

John took yet another deep breath before gingerly tucking his still hard cock back into his pants and fastening his trousers.  He sat on the edge of the bed and reached underneath to pull out the box he and Sherlock kept tucked away there and picked out the toy he had in mind.  He inserted all the requisite batteries, gave it a quick test and put the toy and remote control into his pocket before heading back out into the sitting room.

Sherlock was just as he had left him, palms up on the door, his feet spread, his arse sticking out, still marked from the earlier whipping, and only the slim, silver chain of John’s dog tags interrupting all that smooth expanse of pale flesh.  Such a pretty picture.  John had to resist commenting on his sheer beauty alone.  It wasn’t time for praise.  Sherlock would have to work hard to earn that now.

John stood behind Sherlock and pulled a small bottle of lube out of his pocket, popping the cap and slicking up two of his fingers.  He placed one hand firmly on Sherlock’s shoulder as he slid the other between Sherlock’s arse cheeks, starting to rub against his puckered hole.  Sherlock shivered and bit down hard on his bottom lip, tilting his hips up ever so slightly to give John more access.

Wordlessly John slid first one, then two fingers into Sherlock, slowly loosening him up enough to accept the toy.  John worked the tapered black plug into Sherlock’s now lubed up arse hole until the wide base was pressed flush against him.  “I thought I told you I didn’t want to hear a sound out of that mouth, soldier.” John said, his lips near Sherlock’s ear, his voice husky.  “Are you incapable of following a simple order?”

“N-no Sir” Sherlock stuttered out, his face flushed.

“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble complying with my further instructions, isn’t that right, Holmes?”  John stressed the question with a few quick, light tugs against the plug.

“Ahh yes Sir.”  Sherlock gasped.

“Listen closely then.  You will hold this position.  You will not make a sound above a low whimper.  You will not cum.  If you must reposition you may ask to do so.  Repeat your orders soldier.”  John insisted, his clipped tones making Sherlock tremble.

“I will hold this position, I will not make a sound above a whimper, I will not cum, and I may ask to reposition if I must, Captain.”

“Correct.”  John gave a curt nod and strode off into the kitchen.  He washed his hands, filled the kettle, and set it to boil.  He smiled to himself as he busily went about getting his cuppa ready and put a few biscuits on a plate.  Making Sherlock be still and silent was the worst punishment he could think of, and it would only be made more unbearable as John planned to keep him wretchedly aroused with the little, inconspicuous remote resting in his pocket.  There was a good chance Sherlock already knew, or at least suspected which of their playthings was currently wedged inside his arse.  It wouldn’t make it any less of a surprise when John flipped the switch.

Sherlock tried to take deep breaths as he listened to John rustle about in the kitchen, but his whole body prickled with anticipation for the vibrations he knew had to be coming.  He chewed his already shredding lower lip some more and shifted slightly on the balls of his feet.  He had to focus.  Had to keep his mind busy or he would tear himself apart with his own impatience.  But there was no impending boredom.  Captain Watson was never boring.  Frustrating, brutal, utterly unflappable, and entirely arousing - yes, but no, not an inch of him was boring.

The kettle still needed a minute before it boiled so John took the chance to lean against the entryway to the kitchen to look at Sherlock while he reached into his pocket.  He pulled out the remote, pressed the button for the lowest vibration setting and watched Sherlock gasp and squirm.  Just then the kettle clicked off and John decided to leave the toy running while he poured the water into his mug and waited for it to steep.  

Sherlock’s eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open as the toy in his arse turned on, sending vibrations up through his spine, down through his toes, and certainly to his cock.  He pushed his palms harder against the wood of the door to steady himself.  Suddenly he felt as if his bones weren’t quite as solid as they had been only moments before.

John smirked as he listened to the small gasps coming from the next room, and decided it was time to switch off the toy as he put the milk away and gathered his snack.  He made himself comfortable in Sherlock’s chair with his cuppa, biscuits, abandoned paper and the remote resting on his knee.  He had a better view of Sherlock from here, but it was still far enough away that Sherlock wouldn’t be able to see when he chose to use the remote.

He sipped his tea, read a bit of the paper and ate a biscuit while Sherlock stood naked, head hanging down now, subtly wiggling his toes.  John pressed the button for the next setting up and Sherlock’s knees nearly went out beneath him.  John watched him struggle briefly to stay upright, widening his stance a little and attempting to clutch at the flat planes of the door.  He was panting now and John didn’t doubt that his cock was twitching and leaking between his legs.  John ate another biscuit, had a sip of tea and then decided that Sherlock needed to be pushed a little further.  

Sherlock heard John set his mug down and shift slightly in his chair.  The newspaper rustled.  Sherlock was entirely on edge and all his senses were straining toward John.  The short burst of incredibly strong vibration ripped through him, catching him off guard and making him fight for his next breath.  He whimpered.  It was such a short rush of intense feeling, but it was quickly followed by another, and another, and another.  John was pulsing the plug on and off at its highest setting.  Sherlock felt like every one of his nerves was on fire and his mind practically short-circuited as he had to focus all his energy on merely staying upright.

John watched Sherlock shudder and claw the door, revelling in his barely contained whimpers and the way his hips thrust forward involuntarily into the empty air.  John varied the length between pulses, letting Sherlock just catch his breath before turning the toy on again.  Sometimes it was a single, short burst, and other times John let the toy run until Sherlock’s thighs quivered and it looked like he was about to drop to the floor.

John just kept up, wondering if Sherlock would beg for relief, or actually fall down first.  It always seemed to be a 50/50 chance with Sherlock.  He hated asking for relief, showing any weakness in front of Captain Watson, but knew he would be made to suffer further if he went against his orders to hold the position.

“Please, Sir!” Sherlock gasped after a particularly vicious string of hard, fast, pulses of the toy.  He was in serious danger of falling hard to the floor or cumming on the spot if he wasn’t allowed some relief.  

John stilled the toy and smiled at Sherlock’s back.  Sherlock was flushed and sweating and his hair stuck to the back of his neck.  “At ease, soldier.”  John said and like a string had been cut Sherlock slumped down to the floor, knees splayed wide and his head thudding lightly against the door.  He was panting hard and trying desperately to ignore the aching desire that clawed at his insides and threatened to spill over.

John gave Sherlock some time to get his breath back.  He had lasted longer than John thought he would and followed instructions well.  He went over and stood behind Sherlock, loomed over him and let Sherlock just feel him standing there, let him wonder whether praise or punishment was coming next.

Sherlock’s breath hitched in his throat.  His whole body was quivering and sweat was starting to trickle down his temples and the back of his neck.  He itched under John’s gaze -  desperately wanted him to say something, do something, not just stand there watching, evaluating, waiting.  He nearly gasped when John ran a finger from the base of his spine, up to his neck to hook the chain there.  

John tugged and the dog tags jingled lightly as they drew up tight against Sherlock’s long throat.  Sherlock let himself be pulled up into a more upright position along with the chain.  John kept tight hold, letting the thin metal bite into Sherlock’s flesh as he bent down to put his mouth right next to Sherlock’s ear.

“Have you had enough, Holmes?” John growled and was rewarded with a shudder that visibly ran through Sherlock’s entire body.

Sherlock sighed out a “yes, Sir,” resigned to the fact that he was a disappointment for not being able to hold out longer, not being stronger or better and having to give in to his body that had reached its limit.  He wondered what the punishment would be now.  Maybe another whipping, or maybe John would crush his fingers under the toe of his boot, or maybe John would simply refuse to let him cum, leave him hard and aching for the rest of the afternoon.

“Well so have I.” John rumbled, grabbing a fistful of Sherlock’s hair and letting the dog tags drop against Sherlock’s chest.  John dragged Sherlock by his hair, making him crawl on his knees over to the coffee table where John deposited him across it, facing the sofa.  John kicked Sherlock’s legs apart, spreading him wide and making him whimper as the toy shifted.

John got down on his knees behind Sherlock and grasped the base of the toy, slowly working it out of Sherlock’s arse, making Sherlock wince and hiss in a breath.  John put the plug down before pulling the bottle of lube out of his pocket, and all but slamming it down on the table next to Sherlock.

Sherlock jumped slightly, his breath quick again, wondering what was coming next.  He didn’t have to wait long to find out though, as he heard John undoing his fatigue trousers and the slide of fabric as he pushed them and his pants off his hips.  John picked the lube up again and Sherlock bit his lip hard at the unmistakable wet noises that followed.

John snaked his fingers into Sherlock’s curls again, pulling back and making his spine arch prettily.  John pushed the head of his lubed cock up against Sherlock’s hole as he pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s ear.  “I have had quite enough of your silence now.” John said gruffly.  “I want to hear you, Sherlock Holmes; I want to hear every curse and moan and plea that dribbles out of your mouth as I take you apart.  You can beg as much as you want, but you will not cum until I give you explicit permission.  Understood?”

Sherlock let out a long groan.  “Understood, Captain.”

“Very good, soldier.”  John moaned in return as he sunk himself to the hilt in Sherlock’s slick, tight, heat.

Sherlock gripped the edge of the coffee table, gasping as he was so suddenly filled with John.   John released his hair and he collapsed forward, a mug crashing to the floor and papers fluttering to the ground, slipping beneath the couch.  Neither of them cared.  John dug his fingers into Sherlock’s slender hipbones, holding him steady as he thrust mercilessly in and out, enjoying the way Sherlock tilted his pelvis up, seeking a better angle.

“This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it Holmes?” John rasped.

“Ahh yes, Sir.” Sherlock groaned, his voice rough and deep.

“You  would get it so much sooner if you just learned to fucking behave, now wouldn’t you soldier?”

“Yes Captain, oh god yes.  Please, please I need it so bad, Sir.” Sherlock was starting to babble, his words spilling out between lewd moans as John fucked him hard, his fingers undoubtedly leaving small bruises on his hips.

“What do you need, Holmes? I want you to beg me for it.”  John growled, giving a particularly hard thrust into Sherlock’s tight arsehole.

“I need … ohh … I need … ahh … I need you to fuck me.  Hard please Sir.”  Sherlock begged in halting phrases, continually cut off by John’s thrusts that short circuited his thought process, and subsequently his ability to construct proper sentences.  “Fuck me hard and deep and oh god oh fuck please touch me and let me cum Captain? Please, Sir?” he continued all at once, practically in one breath.

“That’s it soldier.” John murmured, sliding a hand off Sherlock’s hip to firmly grip his leaking cock, giving it a slow tug in contrast to to his quick thrusts.  Sherlock let out a delicious high pitched whine.  “Uhh … hold out a little longer, Holmes.  You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Y-yes, Sir.” Sherlock sobbed out, sounding wrecked and utterly obscene, his back gleaming with sweat and his knuckles white from his hold on the edge of the table.  He was clearly at his limit and John was close, so close as he thrust himself in and out, beating out a steady staccato of skin on skin.  He kept his hand wrapped loosely around Sherlock’s cock, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts now, but not giving him quite as much as John knew he wanted.

John focused on the heat and snugness that engulfed him with each thrust, the lush friction with each pull, and the way Sherlock squirmed under him, always wanting more.  He let his thumb slide over the head of Sherlock’s cock, making him gasp and moan.  John tightened his grip as he was nearly there, doing his best not to moan too much, stay in control.

John thrust harder, slid his hand faster up and down the length of Sherlock’s cock and demanded, “Now, soldier.  Cum for me.”

Sherlock obeyed with a shudder and groan that seemed to well up from his belly to be ripped out of his throat.  His mouth dropped open in a wordless scream as his back arched up and every muscle in his body tensed and released, over and over as his cum spattered the floor beneath the coffee table and coated John’s hand.

John felt Sherlock’s aresehole constrict around him, and he struggled to keep both his hips and hands moving.  He moaned as he felt Sherlock’s hot cum on his fingers and he buried himself deep in Sherlock’s arse with one last thrust.  “Oh fuck.” John breathed as Sherlock’s muscles fluttered and squeezed around him, bringing him spilling over the edge.  

John stilled, panting and riding out the last tremors of his orgasm before slipping out of Sherlock.  He put a hand up to Sherlock’s shoulder, pulling him gently up and off the coffee table to sit on the floor, facing John.  Sherlock looked shattered.  His eyes were nearly all pupil, his curls stuck to his forehead, his face and chest were flushed pink, and his mouth was still hanging open.  John brought his hand up those lips.  “Clean it off, Holmes.” John rasped, more intoxication than insistence in his voice.  

Sherlock let out a small whimper and took John’s fingers in his mouth, tasting himself.  He stared at John, who licked his lips unconsciously, watched intently, his eyes flicking back and forth between Sherlock’s own and his lips wrapped around John’s digits.  Sherlock licked and sucked until John’s hand was clean and he pulled it free.

“There’s only one more thing I need you to do soldier” John said and Sherlock looked up at him expectantly.  “Kiss me you fucking gorgeous, infuriating man.” John grinned and Sherlock returned the smile before reaching out to cup John’s cheek, drawing him in for a deep kiss.  John ran his hand up Sherlock’s chest, catching hold of the dog tags and briefly breaking their kiss to pull them up over Sherlock’s head and put them back in his pocket.


End file.
